Together
by Aka Awesome
Summary: She left everything behind and made a break for freedom in a world where you are never too young to die. This is the story of Annabeth Chase, how she loved, how she lost, and how she changed.
1. Chapter 1

9: 40 pm

I am ready.

Slinging the backpack onver my shoulders, I ease the door of my bedroom open and tiptoe out into the corridor. Peeking into John's room, I let out a breath of relief as I see his unconscious form sprawled across the length of the bed like a broken rag doll, his chest rising and falling in an uneasy slumber.

It hadn't hurt to slip those insomniac pills into his Earl Grey after all.

It doesn't take me long to raid John's tool box for his hammer and slip the weapon into my backpack. John has locked the door from the outside, but I pick the lock without breaking a sweat. The air outside is comfortingly warm. Standing on the lawn, I turn around to catch one last glimpse of the house…and see a face at the window. My stepmother's face. She stares at me, wide-eyed, one hand clutching the curtain. Then she turns, and I don't need to hear her to know she's screaming.

Curses.

Spinning around, I bolt away from the house. A car honks angrily as I run across the road, panic making my breath come short. It hits me that I have nowhere to go, but I don't even care. I tear through the maze of winding streets that make up Manhattan like the devil is on my heels. Behind me, I hear the sound of pounding feet and ragged breathing. John's voice calls out: "Annabeth!"

At this speed, I'm going to have to stop to catch my breath soon, and they'll find me. Even as I panic, a plan begins to form in the recesses of my mind.

Ducking into an alley, I fling myself at the crumbling wall, my limbs scrabbling for purchase on the loose bricks. I can hear footsteps approaching. Adrenalin pumps through my veins, and I scrabble up the remaining stretch of wall and fling myself into the adjacent street, landing almost noiselessly. A rush of despair overwhelms me as I realise I dropped my backpack in my rush to clamber over the wall. Crouching in the shadows, I hold my breath as John and my stepmother run right past me, close enough to touch. As I rise to my feet I can hear them talking through the brick wall in voices tight with worry.

"I saw her come in here."

"She must've gone onto the next block. Look, she dropped her bag."

"We lost her." My father sounds like a shellshocked soldier.

"Don't worry, John. She'll come back. Come on, let's call the police." My stepmother's voice is impassive, and I hear the click of her shoes as she strides away.

"I'm sure we'll find her," my father mutters under his breath, "but the monsters will find her first."

My heart skips a beat.

Monsters.

When I was four John took me to the zoo, and we got separated in the crowd. Scared and crying, I stumbled shoulder-first into the seals' enclosure. One seal turned its slick body to look at me, and I swear it had a rabid dog's head-snarling, foam dripping from its fangs. Later, when John heard my screams and came running, he turned very pale when I told him what happened. "That's nonsense, Annabeth," he said.

He was a terrible liar even then. He couldn't keep from me that I was a demigod.

Now he strides out of the alley and across the street where I am hiding, and I can make out the shape of my bag slung over his shoulder. Gently, I massage my sore hand. I make the mistake of moving back, and my shoe makes a scraping sound against the ground.

John stops in his tracks. Turning slowly around, he begins treading cautiously towards me, face suddenly alight with hope. "Annabeth?" he says, and I don't dare move a muscle. Suddenly he swoops in my direction, his swinging arm barely missing me.

Biting my lip, I begin to retreat an agonising centimetre at a time.

"John?" My stepmother's voice is impatient. Throwing one last look down the street, he allows himself to be pulled away.

I can barely contain my relief. Scrambling to my feet, I run, trying to put as much distance between John and I as possible. I run with no idea where I am going, dodging from street to street, pushing aside pedestrians, weaving between honking cars. I lose track of time as I run and run and run. Eventually, each step becomes agony. I fight for breath, my legs aching in pain, and slow my pace to a jog.

_Inhale. Put one foot in front. Exhale._

I repeat the mantra in my head until my chest constricts and I slump down onto the sidewalk of a bustling road and check my watch. 11:30 pm. Moaning softly in fatigue, I wander around until I find another deserted street. It won't do if someone finds me and starts asking questions.

Hugging my legs to my chest, I bury my head between my knees and wait until my breathing slows into a steady rhythm. _I'll only be here for a short while, _I promise myself_. Only a short while, then…_

I'm asleep before I can make any more promises I can't keep.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake to one sensation: thirst.

Running my cracked lips with a dry tongue, I heave myself to my feet and set off down the alley. The sun is shining on its stage of cloudless blue, setting me on fire with burning heat. I find myself wishing desperately that I hadn't dropped my backpack the previous night. All of my supplies are gone, as well as my only weapon.

Making my way onto the main street, I start to jog again. I shade my eyes from the glare as I round bend after bend. Pretty soon I am out of breath.

I sneak a look at my surroundings. Sunlight gleaming off the glass windows of office buildings and skyscrapers nearly blind me as I blunder past them. There is not a tree in sight, nowhere I can take refuge from the heat.

It is nine o'clock, and I am running out of energy, fast. Has John called the police? Are they looking for me right now? I wonder through the sweltering fog in my head. I am woozy now, tripping over every small pit in the pavement.

It's time for last resorts.

It takes me a painfully long time to find a corner store. The air inside is blissfully cool. I slip through the door, and the teenage shopkeeper doesn't as much lift her head. She is slumped over her desk, brown hair spread around her, asleep. From the look of her she is about four years older than me-a seventeen-year-old working in a corner store. I can't even concentrate enough to be puzzled.

Grabbing a drink and a packet of chips, I am just about to exit in triumph when I hear her voice.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Spinning around, I see the shopkeeper drawing herself to her full height. "Thief!" She points a shaking finger at me.

I grimace guiltily. "I was just-" I stammer.

The shopkeeper strides over to me and clamps her hands onto my shoulders. I can imagine her acid gaze behind those sunglasses. Her fingernails are digging into my flesh. I sneak a look down at the bottle of water in my hand. . . Desperation overwhelms me, and before I can think, I draw back my fist and punch her, hard, straight on her right eye.

A thin crack spreads across the lens, and she wrenches the sunglasses off her face impatiently.

A scream freezes in my throat as I see her eyes. Scarlet in colour, they smoulder like burning coals. Before I can react, her body begins to contort. Her smooth skin is suddenly worn and stretched, and her jacket melts back into two leathery wings. Huge yellow fangs, more like tusks than teeth, sprout from her blood-red gums. Her hair shrinks back into her skull, and bulging veins creep across her skin. I realise that her fingernails aren't digging into my back. Her _claws_ are.

Too late, I realise what she is.

Monster.

"Demigod!" She shrieks. This time I really do scream. I scream at the top of my lungs and swing the chip packet into her face. She lets out a yowl of frustration and tears it apart with her long claws. She is most definitely a monster-a hag with bat's wings and bloodlust pumping through her veins.

She lunges at me again, and this time I am forced to let go of my precious water bottle as I lob it into her mouth. She chokes for a moment, and I seize the opportunity with both hands. Shoulder-slamming the door, I barge out onto the street and run. I am fuelled only by adrenalin now. I hear a shriek behind me, and know the monster is hot on my heels. Pedestrians stroll by, occasionally throwing a curious glance at me. For once I hate the Mist-the magical substance that makes mortals see only what their limited brains can process.

Ploughing through a field of people, I push myself to my limit as I charge down the road. After what seems like an eternity of running, I find myself back where I started-in the deserted street where I hid from my family.

Tearing down the street, I let out a shriek of dismay as I realise that the street has a dead end-another brick wall, this time much too high for me to climb. I whirl around just in time to see the monster block the entrance of the street. She grins, showing a mouthful of those fangs. I imagine her sinking one deep into my chest.

I analyse the situation-I am trapped against a brick wall with no weapons, a monster advancing towards me. The monster is immortal. I am not. The monster has probably killed a thousand demigods before. I haven't killed a single living thing larger than five centimetres.

So I resort to my last option.

Scream.

The monster pounces on me, pushing me to the ground, its claws holding me down. Its breath smells of decay and despair.

Time stops as, for a moment, prey and predator stare each other in the eyes.

Then a cluster of arrows sprout almost magically from the creature's neck, and it disintegrates into golden sand.

I let out a strangled sob-half terror, half relief-as I drag myself into a sitting position. The adrenaline that kept me standing has disappeared, and I am once again trapped in a world of throbbing headaches and dry, cracked lips.

I hear footsteps, but can't quite manage to stand up. Two youths are heading my way. One of them, a girl, carries a bow and has a sheath of arrows slung around her shoulder-she must've been the one who killed the monster. Her companion-a tall, lean boy with messy sand-coloured hair-holds out his palms in a gesture of peace. They run towards me, concern plainly written on their face.

When they reach me they drop to their knees. The girl frowns at me in worry. "What do you remember?" she asks cautiously. "Anything…unusual?"

All I can manage is: "water. Please."

The boy shrugs a backpack off his shoulder and retrieves a large bottle. I practically wrench the lid off and press it to my mouth, gratefully swallowing the water but the mouthful. When I'm done I feel remarkably better, but when I try to sit up pain sears from shoulder to shoulder. Gingerly, the girl draws a knife out of her belt and slashes open the shoulders of my shirt. I grimace as I see three identical puncture wounds on each shoulder. They are deep and dripping blood. The pair exchange grim glances, then the boy says cautiously: "do you remember anything…unusual?"

"Unusual?" somehow I find the mirth to snort. "Unusual as in the huge bat monster thing trying to decapitate me?"

The boy sighs in relief. "You're one of us then." He smiles at me.

"Yeah. A demigod."

"I'm Luke Castellan," the boy says. Nodding to his companion, he adds: "this is Thalia Grace. We're both fourteen-reasonably seasoned demigods. You?"

"I'm Annabeth Chase. Thirteen. But I've only seen a monster once before this. What are you doing here?"

The girl tucks a strand of her dark, curly hair behind one ear. "We ran away from home," she explains. When I told them that I had, too, they didn't seem the least bit surprised. "It's not safe for demigods in the mortal world," she points out, as if she needs to rub it in. "We've heard of a safe haven somewhere in America. Camp Half-Blood, a shelter for the children of the gods. We're headed there." She falls silent, and exchanges yet another meaningful glance with Luke.

"And-" Luke continues, "since you're alone and unprotected…we'd like to invite you to come with us."

"Yes." That's all I can say. Shock, relief, excitement gush through me, and my face lights up with an ear-splitting grin. Luke pats me awkwardly on the arm. Thalia nods and gives me a tiny smile.

Luke retrieves a packet of what looks like beeswax and tears it open. "Eat this," he says, "it's ambrosia. It'll heal your wounds. We'd better get going before more monsters find us."


	3. Chapter 3

Sleep comes easily. Consciousness does not.

When I finally crack open a bleary eyelid, Luke throws up his hands. "The zombie lives!" he crows, tossing me a paper packet. I unwrap it and sink my teeth greedily into the sandwich inside. Thalia, however, looks at hers skeptically. "I thought you were broke, Luke."

"I am."

"Then how-"

"Remember," Luke continues, smiling mischievously, "my dad is the Hermes, the god of thieves." Unzipping his leather jacket, he opens it to reveal the most impressive array of daggers I've seen in my life. Pulling out a particularly wicked blade, Luke dissects his sandwich and spears the pieces one by one, carefully biting them off the sharp blade.

Thalia rolls her eyes. "Show-off," she scoffs.

Luke ignores her in favour of drawing another knife out of his jacket. It is shorter than the one he eats with, but made of the same bronze substance. He holds it out to me, hilt first. "For you," he offers. "Celestial Bronze knife. You'll need something to defend yourself."

"Thank you," I reply. I'll never admit it, but I'm impossibly touched by this simple gesture.

"No problem," he says, grinning. "I won't even miss it."

Soon-to soon-we set off again. When I ask where we are headed, Luke's face darkens and he takes an almost involuntary step away from me. Thalia glares at him. "Stop that, Luke. Annabeth, we don't know the exact location of Camp Half-Blood, so we're going to Iris-message Luke's mom."

"You're going to what?"

"You'll see."

After a few more blocks, Luke stops short. "There," he hisses, pointing to a driveway. "No cars. The residents are away."

Thalia grabs my hand and pulls me up the driveway. Luke draws a thin wire out of his pocket and inserts it into the lock, squinting. There is a soft click, and the door swings open. "Come on."

Before I can protest that we shouldn't be breaking into someone's use, Thalia and Luke are already slipping inside and I have no choice but to follow.

I step in, and immediately something closes around my ankle. I open my mouth to scream, but a hand clamps onto my mouth and I am dragged bodily down. Thrashing, I see that my captor is Luke, and he is holding a finger to his lips. I stop struggling.

Silently, Luke lets go of me and points upward. Following his gaze, my eyes widen in alarm as I see that there _is_ someone in the house-an elderly man, hunched over a newspaper.

For a split second, my heart stops beating.

Rising slowly into a crouch, Thalia begins carefully tiptoeing down the corridor. Luke and I follow slowly, hardly daring to breathe. When we round the corner we speed up into a sprint, and reach the back of the house in no time. Thalia pushes open the back door and we slink through.

As soon as the door swings shut, all three of us let out a sigh of relief. "That was close," Luke mutters. Bending down, he grabs the end of a garden hose like a weapon and puts his thumb over the top. Raising it towards the sun, he turns it on and a fine mist sprays out. The sun made a rainbow in the water. "Drachma, Thalia," he says. Thalia reaches into her pocket and fishes out a larger-than-life golden coin. "Iris, goddess of the rainbow, accept this offering," she chants, and tosses the drachma into the rainbow. It disappears.

Thalia mutters an address, and for a moment nothing happens. Then the rainbow flickers and dies, only to be replaced by another image-a woman standing near a window, peering out forlornly. She is middle-aged, and beautiful in an ethereal way. Her long sand-coloured hair is gathered up in an elaborate bun, and she strokes her creamy skin with a long-fingered musician's hand.

"Mrs Castellan," Thalia calls. Startled, the woman spins around. For a moment, she just stares at us. Then her face breaks into a wide smile of disbelief. "Luke!" she screeches. "Luke, I-I missed you so much!"

Luke scowls at her. "I'm not coming back, Mom," he says firmly, "so stop trying to make me."

If Mrs Castellan's smile fades, and I catch the glimmer of tears in her wide blue eyes.

"We're going to Camp Half-Blood," Luke continues, ignoring his mother's discomfort, "so can you tell us where it is?"

Mrs Castellan blows her nose. "Long Island," she replies tearily.

"How are we supposed to get there?" I ask incredulously. "We're in Minnesota. We can't just _walk._"

"We'll take a plane," he says, and Thalia smiles. Then, to his mother: "Can you wire some money to my card now?"

"Sure. But-"

"Mom. I'll be safer there."

"Luke, I love-"

Luke turns off the hose, and the image of her evaporates into the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

"How can you eat that much?"

I stare in fascination and disgust at the mound of wrappers slowly growing beside Luke. Shrugging, he chuckles through a mouthful of potato chips and says something like: "irrronooooooooool."

"I don't know," Thalia translates.

Sighing, I leaned against the stiff back of the economy-class seat. Behind me, a baby wails loudly for milk. Thalia is smiling, her dark eyes far away as she absent-mindedly braids and unbraids her hair.

"Five minutes until takeoff," I mutter.

"Excuse me?"

Turning around, I see a boy staring at me. He skin is cinnamon-coloured, his eyes the same hue, and has the beginnings of acne. He has crutches, and he looks about seventeen. "Hi, um, Thalia?" he says uncertainly. Thalia snaps around to face him. "How do you know my name?"

The boy lowers his voice. "Well…I'm Grover. Why I'm here is a long story. All you need to know is that-"

At that moment, the seat in front of mine bursts into flames.

Screaming, I unbuckle my safety belt and leap onto the aisle next to Grover, watching in horror as the man in front of me thrashes in his burning chair. I lunge for him-I have to undo his safety belt, pull him out of the fire, _do something,_ but Grover grabs my arm and holds me back. "It's too late!" he yells. And then, as if he knows I'm not listening, he repeats himself: "_too late!_"

"How touching." The voice is deep and icy. Spinning around, I find myself facing…what?

The creature towers above me, a mountain of muscle and savage strength. Its eyes are like a statue's-blank, with no pupil. When it holds out its hands, I realise that instead of fingers five columns of white-hot fire stretch from its calloused palm. As it throws its head back to laugh I see that its tongue, too, is made of molten fire.

It looks at me with eyes as black as death. "Greetings, Annabeth Chase."

Without warning, the monster takes a swipe at me with its flaming hand, and I feel the heat searing across my skull as I duck and draw my dagger. In a flash, Luke and Thalia are beside me, Luke wielding a long knife, Thalia with an arrow strung onto her bow. The monster utters a laugh that turns my blood to ice. "Do you really think you can outfight me?" he booms above the choruses of screams. Passengers are leaping from their seats, panicked, rushing out of the exit. It extends a hand. Jets of fire shoot from its burning fingers and lick along the back of a fleeing passenger. She falls to the ground, shrieking, her clothes on fire. No one stops to help her.

"Now!" Thalia yells. All three of us charge at the monster. Its smile falters. Raising one leg, he sweeps Luke and I off our feet in one swift kick. Elbowing Thalia to the ground, it places one foot on her back. "Drop your weapons if you want your friend to live!" it snarls viciously.

Luke and I exchange an exasperated glance.

"Drop your weapons, or I'll break her spine!"

The hilt of my dagger is just beginning to slip out of my hand when a pair of thin brown arms clamp around the monster's throat. I gasp when I see that our saviour is Grover. His crutches lie on the ground, abandoned, as he holds on for dear life.

"Run!" he shouts. Scrambling up, Thalia fires an arrow but the monster is thrashing too much for her to aim properly. The arrow whizzes by the its ear and glances harmlessly off a wall.

Luke and I charge forward as one. Dodging a punch, I launch myself at the creature and sink my knife deep into its thigh.

Howling in pain and outrage, it staggers backwards. Luke takes a running leap, legs first, and puts all his weight into the kick. There is a snapping sound, and the monster spits out a bloodied tooth. As is stumbles around, disorientated, Thalia shoves it to the ground and Grover has enough sense to let go. Luke springs forward, and the two hold the struggling monster down. "You do the honours," Luke says to me, perspiration forming on his brow.

Grabbing my dagger, I skirt around to its head and kneel. This should be easy, slitting its throat.

Then it looks me in the eyes. In those pits of deep, bottomless black, I can see its memories, its grief and triumph, its happiness and sorrow. I see it tottering after its family on its baby legs, wailing, abandoned. I see it growing up with spite as its only companion. I see it hunched in a cave next to a fire, a bleeding wound on its arm, hunted. It dawns on me-this is just another living thing. I can't, I just _can't_, send to Tartarus something not that different from me. Something that maybe, in another world, I could've called brother.

"I can't do it," I say. Thalia stares at me. "You _what?_" she asks incredulously.

"I can't do it." My voice is strong this time. Sighing, I take her place and hand her my dagger. As she rises slowly, I catch Luke staring at me. I search for the disbelief, the disgust at my weakness in his face, but there is none. There is only a deep, sorrowful empathy. For a split second, my grip on the monster loosens.

Wrong move.

In one superhuman effort it heaves itself to its feet, flinging Luke and I aside. Standing up, he points a finger at me and grins. "The weak link will break the chain," he crows.

"No!" Grover makes a run at it, but it's ready. It catches him by the collar, and his hoodie bursts into flame. Grover wrenches it off in terror.

I dive into the row of seats as the monster launches a volley of flames in my direction. Ducking and dodging, Thalia and Luke make fruitless attempts at attack.

I launch myself off the back of a chair at the monster. As he looks around in surprise, I entangle my fingers in his hair and hold on tightly as I lock my legs around his torso. I swing my legs around precariously, dodging his flaming fingers. Drawing out my dagger, my teeth clatter as the monster thrashes desperately.

I can't take pity upon the thing. Not this time.

Closing my eyes, I feel hot tears struggle against my eyelids as I reach forward and slit its throat open in a bloody arc.


	5. Chapter 5

We find refuge in a deserted factory decorated with broken conveyor belts. When night comes, we feast upon a packet of Grover's coke. Thalia pries a loose panel of the floor away and we light a fire, more for its light than its warmth.

It's hard to believe that Grover is a satyr, even with the evidence in front of my very eyes. It's even harder to believe that he came from Camp Half-Blood. That they dispatched him to bring us to camp. He seems every bit the godsend.

I volunteer to take the first watch because I know I won't be able to sleep anyway. So while the others doze off and the fire flickers into darkness, I sit near the high-set window and watch the moonlight spill into my lap and curl up there like a silver cat. Almost unconsciously, I draw out the knife and examine the blade, clean now, clean and bronze and glistening. I sit there in the aftermath of my kill, struggling not to cry.

After I disposed of the creature, when I dropped to the ground and crouched there, stunned, Thalia ran to me and, throwing her arms around me, repeated three words to me, over and over again: "You did it, Annabeth. You did it. You did it."

Looking up, I saw the golden essence of the monster shower down on us like confetti. She was right. I did it. I conquered the beast.

And I was utterly miserable.

I lose track of time as I replay the scene over and over in my head-leaping onto its back. Holding on. And then the cold feeling that invaded me as I drew the blade across its throbbing neck.

"Annabeth?"

Turning my head, I see Luke has materialised and is sitting next to me, a frown etched onto his face. I marvel at how much his face resembles a wooden doll's-striking features carved into smooth skin, an impossibly straight nose. A permanent twitch at the corner of his mouth, where the doll maker's instrument might have slipped.

"It's my turn to keep watch, you know," Luke points out. Then he pats me on the shoulder, and looks me straight in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Annabeth, about the monster."

And that's it. Tipping my head back, I let the dam break and feel the bliss of the tears flowing freely down my face. I don't even protest when Luke draws me awkwardly into his arms. I just cry and let the tears drip onto the cloth of his shirt.

When my sobs finally cease, I pull away from him and run my hands over my face. When my fingers return to my lap, I am composed again. I mutter a thank you, rise, and walk to join Thalia and Grover on the cold floor of the factory.

For a while I lie there, every breath echoing around the huge, empty space. The silence is deathly.

When I finally slip into the cool oblivion that is unconsciousness, the gods send me no dreams.


End file.
